


The Fame - Epilogue I

by jeffersonhairpin



Series: The Fame [2]
Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman, Lady Gaga (Musician)
Genre: ? - Freeform, Drinking, Drunkenness, Elio being cute with Oliver's kids, Fluff, Idk y'all they're happy, M/M, Moving out party, Music, Poker, They have a fun night together, happy ever after
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:01:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,181
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24504301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jeffersonhairpin/pseuds/jeffersonhairpin
Summary: Oliver’s heart squeezes as he watches Elio walking up the street holding Max and Grace’s hands, each of them holding an ice-cream and licking away happily. Elio is leaning down while Grace holds her hand up so he can lick his own ice-cream, making her laugh.Oliver also laughs, incredulously, at the sight – he told Elio he’d be out all day… he should have known he’d find a way to spoil the kids.With Elio and Oliver moving to a more child-friendly area in a few days, Stefani and Oliver organise for her to visit for a nostalgic "shitfaced poker night", to appropriately farewell the apartment Elio has loved so much.(Probably doesn't make much sense if you haven't read The Fame)
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Series: The Fame [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1719049
Comments: 15
Kudos: 61





	The Fame - Epilogue I

**Author's Note:**

> Hope people still care enough about this universe to read! I haven't been able to write as much recently 😓
> 
> Here's some fluff to brighten your day! Hope everyone is doing okay and things are slowly starting to open back up where you are ❤️😊
> 
> (The Blur song is [To The End](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0DjHKqb365A))

The sound of Stefani giggling beside him is infectious as Oliver looks down onto the street below.

They’re moving out of Elio’s apartment in two days, but beforehand they’re going to give him a surprise.

He’s leaving this place, where he became who he is twice over, so that Oliver’s children can stay with them. He’s giving up his smoking and the look he’s crafted for the apartment and a lot of his going out to move into the suburbs for Oliver and his children… the least they can do is give him one last ‘shitfaced poker night’, as Stefani put it when she suggested the idea.

Oliver’s heart squeezes as he watches Elio walking up the street holding Max and Grace’s hands, each of them holding an ice-cream and licking away happily. Elio is leaning down while Grace holds her hand up so he can lick his own ice-cream, making her laugh.

Oliver also laughs, incredulously, at the sight – he told Elio he’d be out all day… he should have known he’d find a way to spoil the kids. 

He’s definitely the ‘good cop’ in their dynamic with them, but Oliver often wonders how that will change when the kids grow up and stop _being_ kids. He suspects Elio will either be sneaking them sips of wine and telling them not to tell their dad, or shocked and appalled every time they so much as mention a crush.

He’s excited to find out but for now he’s going to enjoy still being able to witness sights like Elio opening the door wiping ice-cream off Max’s face.

“Maybe don’t tell your dad we did that, okay?” he stage-whispers as he kneels to wipe the last of the chocolate off. “How did you even get this much fu— So much ice-cream on your face? Did you even eat any or did you just put it all on your face?”

Max is giggling at his heatless reprimanding as Grace tugs at Elio’s sleeve, wordlessly trying to get his attention as she stares up at _Lady Gaga._

“What is it Gracie-bean?” Elio asks, not turning around yet.

When she just tugs at his sleeve again he finally turns and drops the tissue in his hand. 

_“Stef!”_

He immediately runs towards Stefani, almost knocking her off her feet with the force of his enthusiastic hug. He saw her at the Born This Way release but that doesn’t make him less thrilled.

“Oh my god!” he cries happily, swaying her roughly from side to side in his excitement. “What are you _doing_ here?”

“I’m helping you give this place a proper goodbye party,” she strains out as he squeezes, slapping his back until he lets her go. “Shitfaced poker night,” she says breathlessly when he relents.

Elio pulls back, confused.

“But aren’t the kids camping out here tonight? We can’t do… you know, that, with them here? We can do something else though?”

Oliver’s heart leaps that Elio’s mind immediately jumped to that, but before Stef or Oliver can answer there’s a knock at the door – Micol. She must have been waiting on the street and seen Elio and the children coming up.

Things are still a little tense between everyone but she was willing enough to pick the children up for the rest of the weekend – she’s not dying to do Elio or Oliver any big favours, but more time with her children seems like a fair trade for picking them up.

“Hey Gracie, Maxie. Did you like your ice-cream?” she asks, choosing to focus on the children. She wouldn’t call herself a Gaga fan, but it’s still weird to see someone off the tv in your ex-husband’s new boyfriend’s apartment. 

“I liked it mommy!” Max cries out, still young enough to be excited to run into his mother’s arms as she kneels down.

“Well good, because there’s going to be broccoli for dinner.”

_“Noooo!”_ Max wails, spinning on a dime. 

Grace is still staring at Stefani trying not to freak out as her brother laments his doom. 

Used to it but also not wanting to treat Elio’s likely future-step-children like just any other fans, Stefani smiles down at her and waves, hopefully not intimidatingly. 

She’s seen a lot of happy young fans, but something about seeing shy little Grace beam up at her and wave back tugs at her heart. She would never have pictured their futures like this – well, not Elio’s anyway – but it’s enough to make her almost tear up a little, to see someone who means what Grace does to him looking up to her.

_Fuck, we’ve come a long way from where we started…_

“Why don’t you say hello, Gracie?” Oliver finally asks, heading over to the table where a poster and a vinyl are waiting for Stefani to sign for her. 

“Hello,” Grace says, shy again after her big smile.

“Hi, Grace,” Stefani smiles, crouching down to her level.

“You know my name?” Grace asks with wide eyes as she approaches slowly, wringing her hands like she often does when she’s nervous.

“I do… Do you know my name?” Stef asks.

“…Lady Gaga?” Grace hazards.

Stefani laughs kindly, her eyes bright with amused fondness. She already likes this kid.

“Yes, that’s one of my names,” she agrees, still laughing. “But all my friends call me Stefani, or Stef… You can call me either of those.”

Grace can’t keep the smile off her face even through the shyness, at that.

 _“My_ friends call me Gracie… or I guess my friends don’t, but all the adults who know me do. Or Gracie-bean.”

Stefani considers at that, deciding which she prefers. 

“I like Gracie-bean, very much,” she concludes. “It sounds like what I call Elio sometimes. Sometimes I call him Elly-bub, did you know that?”

Grace wrinkles her nose at that as she laughs, saying, “That’s silly.”

“I suppose it is,” Stef laughs with her happily, glad that the mood for the night is being set so well.

Once the autographs have been signed and the kids have been sent on their way with a kiss on the head each from all three remaining behind, Oliver heads to the kitchen to make one of Mafalda’s dishes while Elio and Stef raid the impressive collection on their drinks cart. 

Elio insists it’s a classy mark of adulthood but Oliver just thinks it takes up space when they have perfectly good cupboards.

Elio won that particular debate… he cheated, but he won.

Within ten minutes Oliver is contentedly sipping his mojito and watching Stefani open the windows, knowing exactly what they’re about to get up to and rolling his eyes… He knows they only smoke cigarettes when they're out and they only smoke weed for special occasions, but it still makes him laugh because it's such a mark of the youthfulness Elio brings to his life nowadays...

They're going to have to air out the place before they go now, but if it makes Elio's night better Oliver supposes it's fine...

The sun is coming down and Elio is fiddling with the stereo while his best friend breaks out the expensive imported cigarettes and rolls up a couple of joints for the night, and Oliver couldn’t be happier. It’s a little bittersweet, knowing it’s the only time they’ll get to do something like this here, but it’s not like they’re dying. Elio will still get to have his fun nights in and his big nights out… just maybe not so often.

He doesn’t seem to mind the trade.

The mood is well and truly set when Elio selects his playlist and the 1974 LaBelle version of “Lady Marmalade” comes on over the speakers.

Elio and Stefani turn to face one another at the same time, instantly having the same thought.

They grab their cocktails and drain enough not to spill them, and then mosey over to each other as they sing – Stefani is naturally a more powerful in her delivery, but Elio makes up for it in enthusiasm.

Not that either of them can really be heard over the blasting music, but they’re moving out in two days; what is the landlord going to do? Evict them?

Oliver enjoys seeing this sillier side of Elio too much to care if the neighbours are upset.

It’s a little strange to be a part of these things that are so clearly Elio’s and Stefani’s, but it’s a good strange, Oliver thinks. He and Elio have their own things, so he finds he feels only amusement and happiness as he watches them sing and dance.

 _“Voulez-vous coucher avec moi, ce soir?”_ Elio sings towards Oliver, beckoning him to the rug they’re dancing on with an impish smile, pouting and sticking out his tongue when the older man points to the stove with drawn brows, and mouths _‘can’t’_ – an obvious lie.

If he never dances again the world will be a better place for it.

He’s more than content to just watch the man he cares about most in the world, and someone he’s beginning to care about really quite a lot, attempt to pull off partnered dance moves that involve both hands with cocktails in one hand each.

When the French part comes around again Elio and Stefani beckon again, but Oliver just calls over the music, “I don’t even know what that means, why do you keep looking at me when you sing it?”

Stefani snorts a laugh at that, her first cocktail apparently having done its job well. 

“It means ‘wanna fuck tonight’!” she cries, laughing and holding a hand in front of her mouth.

Oliver raises a brow, to which Elio shrugs and says, “Indelicately put, but yes that’s essentially what it means.”

“That’s _exactly_ what it means, Elio. Your favourite song is a fuck-song about prostitution,” Stefani retorts, heading over to the dock to line up a few songs of her own as the long fade out begins.

The meal is quickly prepared and ready to be served, but apparently Oliver doesn’t get to sit down until he’s finished his cocktail and poured another to sip, according to their rules.

“We’re going to be shitfaced in an hour,” Stefani explains, gesturing to herself and Elio as the food is laid out. “And a shitfaced poker night requires a shitfaced level playing field, so drink up or face elimination from the tournament.”

Elio merely nods in distracted agreement, more focused on re-sealing the loosened joint he’s saving for later than on the conversation at the table.

The expert way he handles it forces Oliver to look away and think of cold showers and Margaret Thatcher’s immigration policies to keep things from getting awkward. Another sip of his drink doesn’t hurt either.

“Oh my god Oliver, this is amazing,” Elio moans from across the table, his cigarette smoking on his plate next to the simple but plainly indulgent pasta dish Mafalda taught him to make so many years ago.

Oliver can’t tell if it’s because he's truly made it that well or if Elio is just tipsy, but he’ll take the praise either way.

“Thank you,” he says with a sip and a small satisfied smile, and then, “…Do you _have_ to smoke at the table though?”

Elio raises a brow and tilts his head.

“Yes, I do,” he says simply, brooking no argument as he takes another puff and grins. “My going away night, my rules. If you’re so bothered, I think I have a gas mask around somewhere…”

“I don’t want to know why,” Oliver laughs, shaking his head.

“Yes you do,” Stefani asserts, her brows raising devilishly. 

Elio just rolls his eyes, saying, “I just thought it was cool guys, it’s not a sex thing, Jesus,” as he kicks her shin under the table, and in that moment it really occurs to Oliver how much Elio and Stefani treat each other like siblings after all they’ve been through together. 

It occurs, that maybe part of what he likes about this matured Elio is that he got away from his doting childhood home and experienced real life, which doesn’t care all that much about how he feels or what he wants… He’s had to compromise, and cohabitate, and give things up, and _work_ to be in the position he’s in.

Oliver has always loved every part of Elio, but in Crema he may have had a touch of only-child-syndrome, and as he watches him puff away and shuffle his playing card expertly in his New York apartment at his moving away party before he moves to the suburb for his future… Oliver thinks that’s probably mostly gone now. 

He can still be a brat when he decides he wants to, but he’s going to be looking after two children with Oliver, going to be moving into a safer neighbourhood for them, going to be helping clothe them and feed them and drive them places and _raise_ them and—

It's been a harder, longer road than either of them would have liked, but without having lived as they have since they were separated - without having become who they've had to become over their years apart... things might not have worked out this well. 

Oliver feels nothing but gratitude as they eat and laugh and talk, astonished that his life hasn't gone up in flames...

That is, until they begin playing the game.

He isn’t sure whether he’s glad to have decent competition or just annoyed that poker – his _thing_ – may not be _his_ thing anymore after tonight. It seems Elio has included lyrics about poker in Stefani’s songs so many times for a reason.

She is a _formidable_ opponent. 

Maybe that’s why she’s been so successful in her industry; she can read people like a book. Those piercing, _seeing_ eyes Oliver felt so pinned by the first time they met do not rest during the game.

Predictably Elio folds for good a few rounds in and settles for observing, drinking, and smoking. It’s distractingly attractive behaviour for Oliver, despite that he wishes he wouldn’t smoke. 

For his self-esteem, he chooses to believe that Elio’s actions are why he’s lost four of six games so far.

Elio’s decision not to play also results in perhaps one too many cocktails being consumed on that side of the table, Oliver suspects, as the younger man begins telling reminiscing stories of his and Stefani’s early days in New York, all of them beginning with, _‘Oh my god Stef, do you remember when…’_

A few of them have Oliver raising his brows at details shared, in either stunned admiration or scandalised shock… His companions have lived - and learned he hopes...

As the night progresses the game becomes more difficult to keep track of, with Elio dragging the drinks cart into the kitchen, playing alchemist behind the bench, and then delivering his creations with an intoxicated smile and drink-wet eyes as he waits to hear his company’s verdict.

They’re surprisingly good for improvisations, but definitely to be sipped slowly.

Once it’s determined that Oliver isn’t going to be able to make a comeback Stefani stands and demands that they hug it out which at first feels a little bit strange, but with how they’ve had to communicate to make this night happen and how much they both love Elio… it’s not as weird as he might have thought. It’s certainly only going to get easier.

“I’m sorry that I destroyed you at your own game, Lachman…” Stefani sighs. “It’s just that it’s my game too,” she shrugs, openly gloating with an impish grin.

“Yeah, whatever,” Oliver grumbles good-naturedly, a little too tipsy to come up with anything wittier to say.

When the cards and the chips are all packed up Stefani and Oliver end up sat at the table eating pretzels as they try to sober up even just a little. Elio, however, has decided he’s too far gone to care at this point, and pulls out a box of his old stuff for a trip down memory lane as he lights up the joint.

“Oh my god, Stefani,” he laughs as he pulls out a pink rhinestoned fifties-style bullet bra, holding it up to the light so she can see. “From the broke nightclub days!”

“Why do you still _have_ that?" Stefani asks through a snorted laugh. "It's terrible, just throw it out!”

“It's for posterity!” Elio cries, scandalised as he clutches it to his chest like a precious heirloom. “It’s an artefact of our storied past!”

Stefani just rolls her eyes affectionately as Elio continues to rifle through the box.

After a few more items have been pulled out and properly appreciated Elio becomes distracted – and a little bit stoned – and decides to go through his old records instead, ending up singing along to Blur with a less than accurate accent.

When a slower, more romantic song comes on and Elio ends up swaying to himself, Stefani huffs a laugh and says, “I can’t believe this is the boy I taught to grind.”

Oliver barely swallows a snort and says, “Oh, believe me… he’s still doing that,” though he doesn’t take his eyes off of Elio – the sight is too sweet.

Well, it's sweet until he looks over sees them laughing, suddenly stopping to place his hands on his hips and accuse, “Are you two talking shit? It’s a _good song,_ okay.”

Oliver raises his hands in surrender.

“That’s not in dispute,” he pacifies with a smile. “We’re just talking about how much we love you.”

“We were actually talking about how great your ass looks today,” Stefani corrects, her lie apparently more convincing as Elio walks over and urges Oliver to his feet, pulling him over to stand between the couch and the speaker.

“Aw,” he smiles, saccharine sweet, as he starts them off slow dancing. “You think my ass looks great today?”

“I always think your ass looks great,” Oliver sighs truthfully, swaying and leaning down to give his Elio a kiss.

“Mm…” Elio hums, smiling around the kiss and allowing his hands to travelling to some more interesting southern regions for a spell, his muddled brain failing to inhibit him.

They stand there swaying for some time, lost in each other and in the warmth of it all, wrapped up in the swelling string and soaring vocals... 

When Oliver has finally determined that they need to separate before things get awkward Stefani is sitting at the table smoking and stirring her cocktail.

“You two are the horniest couple I know,” she says drily, blinking. "In your hearts _and_ your pants."

“It’s ‘cause we’re both hot,” Elio intones factually with a satisfied shrug as he returns to reality. Oliver rolls his eyes but his smile doesn’t waver.

After leaning up on his tiptoes to deliver a final peck, Elio leans back and says brightly, “Shots!”, pulling away and almost skipping to the kitchen.

“Are you sure you need shots?” Olive enquires doubtfully as he screws his head back on, knowing he can’t stop Elio once his mind in set on something but not wanting him to suffer too much tomorrow.

Thankfully this is not what Elio has in mind as he pours two shots and brings them over to the pair at the table.

 _“Pas pour moi,”_ he singsongs, placing them down and giving Oliver and Stefani a kiss on the forehead each as the older man sits. “You’re both lagging behind – it’s not a shitfaced poker night if I’m the only one shitfaced.”

“No, then it’s just Friday,” Stefani teases heatlessly. 

Elio sticks out his tongue, but smiles when she and Oliver take their shots dutifully.

Elio does wind up doing tequila shots later after much dancing and laughing and reminiscing, and so the night ends with him bent over the toilet while Oliver tries not to laugh as he holds his curls back, with Stefani lounging on the sofa waiting for them to be done. She soon becomes impatient and eventually they’re all on the bathroom floor laughing at the state of themselves, though it’s clear that Oliver’s six foot five frame has made him much more prepared to handle the night than his smaller companions. 

“It’s just like Rome all over again,” Elio says with a giggle as he crawls over to where Oliver is sitting to lean his head on his shoulder. 

“It is,” Oliver agrees, wrapping an arm around him and rubbing a hand up and down his side to try to give him some warmth on the tiled floor.

They’re all contentedly silent for a few moments, just enjoying some of their last time here, before Elio speaks again.

“The room is spinning,” he notes softly, prompting Oliver to pull him to his feet and ensure that he and Stefani drink some water before bed.

It’s been fun but if he doesn’t end things soon it’s going to be a two day hangover for the smaller man, and he needs to be able to help move things out.

In the end he manages to get Elio and Stef into bed around two am, after about half an hour of _‘I love you’_ and _‘I’ve missed you so much’_ and _'you're my best friend,'_ , and long, drawn out hugs that have him coughing out laughs to help them remember their third wheel.

“Oliver,” Elio whispers in the dark when they’ve mostly drifted off, Stefani’s breathing on the other side of the room deep and even.

“Mm?” Oliver sighs, holding him tighter.

“Can I suck you off?”

That wakes him up.

“What? No! Stefani is right there,” he whispers, confused. Elio’s not drunk enough to forget where he is, is he?

“She won’wake up,” Elio insists, though he doesn’t open his eyes, murmuring, “I know drunk Stef, she’s down f'r the count. _Please?”_

Incredulous, Oliver figures Elio is close enough to sleep that if he just stays silent he’ll drift off by accident.

“C'mon, I’ll jus’ use my hand,” Elio mumbles out, clearly losing his fight with sleep as he reaches down between their bodies.

He gets about halfway before he finally slips under, letting out a tiny sigh that makes Oliver smile.

He chuckles quietly to himself as he closes his eyes again and drifts off himself soon after.

Such an Elio way to end the night. 

In the morning Stefani has to head out for an early flight, and all she can coax out of a very hungover Elio is a weak hug from the bed, followed by him immediately trying to fall back asleep with a pillow over his head.

Oliver finds he feels well enough to go get them some greasy New York breakfast and make sure Elio gets it all down with an ibuprofen or two, but he’s a little delicate himself. 

They spend the day holed up in the apartment watching moves _very quietly,_ Oliver enjoying the films and Elio just trying to recover and appreciate the place as much as possible before they have to move everything out of it tomorrow.

He likes the new place just fine, but… this apartment has been something special to him. There’s a reason he kept paying rent to keep it even when he thought he was going to live in LA forever. 

It breaks his heart but he has to move forward; he can’t be stuck in this phase of his life forever, no matter how much he’s loved it…

This place helped him grow, helped get him back on track when he strayed in LA… It saw him build himself, fall apart, put himself back together, figure out how to be both alone and happy…

But he’s happy and with Oliver now.

He’s got a future to look forward to. 

He’s got a career, and kids to help look after, and a new path from where he’s met Oliver halfway… He can accept that he needs to leave it behind if it’s like this.

He decides around two pm that he’s done enough reflecting to let go and feel okay about it, and needs a long nap more than he needs anything else right now. 

Oliver feels okay by then, but he follows him to the bed nonetheless, holding him tight until he falls asleep and then just enjoying their closeness.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever tire of Elio’s sweet sleeping face…

As the sun begins to dip in the city Elio finally stirs, nuzzling into Oliver’s shoulder and mumbling.

“Did you get any sleep?”

Oliver smiles softly and brushes some of Elio’s hair back.

“No,” he says gently. “But I didn’t need any… Do you feel any better?”

“Mm…” Elio sighs, stretching hard before returning to his warm cocoon. “I do feel better.”

“What do you want for your last dinner here?” Oliver asks.

“I don’t mind,” Elio murmurs, barely a whisper. 

He’s too content with where he is and where his life is going to pay much mind to anything else that might require his attention right now.

He doesn't much care what they eat as long as he gets to eat it with Oliver.

**Author's Note:**

> It's a little bit short, but I hope it made some people smile 😊
> 
> Let me know any other scenes you might be interested in exploring in another epilogue! 
> 
> You can find me on tumblr at [jeffersonhairpin](https://jeffersonhairpin.tumblr.com), please leave me a comment or come hang out over there ❤️❤️


End file.
